Tomorrow, Maybe
by southern cross
Summary: He is the perfect man for her, always has been, always will be. S5 Skater fic.


Lost has consumed me in ways that it hasn't in years and I have rediscovered my love of Skater fic. So here is my Season Five speculation fic. Anything up to and including 'John 3:16' is fair game so consider yourself warned. I own nothing and mean no harm. Please hit that sweet little button at the bottom and let me know what you think.

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"Are you planning on speaking anytime soon there sweetheart?"

She jolted, stepping back she nearly stumbled over an end table, would have had he not reacted and caught her elbow.

He-James-Sawyer, caught her; he liked to do that. But her thoughts digressed; he had asked her a question, speaking, right.

"Sorry," she tried and failed to give him a smile, "I was just lost there."

Understatement, she flinched at the transparency of it, the line of disbelief creased between his eyes; he didn't believe it either.

"Uh huh, well why don't you have a seat, tell old Sawyer here what's the what," he took a seat on the love seat and patted the spot next to him. She shouldn't; really, she should just turn around and walk out the door.

But he was looking at her, seeing her, and it was the first time in three years she felt like someone was looking at her and not through her. So she took the offered seat, every muscle in her body tight, running was in her blood and it was calling to her, but she wanted to stay, she wanted to stay with him.

Suddenly it didn't matter that it had been three years, that he had jumped off that helicopter for reasons she hadn't been able to face then and was in no better place to face them now. There was no place else she could be than here, with him.

Standing abruptly, she felt him tense next to her, could see out of the corner of her eye his hands go to his knees as he fought the urge to stand; but the blood in her was too strong. She began to pace, to move the length of the borrowed living room.

Juliet had whispered her apologies earlier, had told her that they had shared time and space and bodies; replacements for those they were aching for and she had accepted it. How could she not? After all hadn't she made her own feeble attempt at playing house?

No, there was no room for judgments in her; not like he would let her get away with them. No, he would more than likely smirk at her and make some smart ass comment about the 'Doc' which would shut her right up. They were so far beyond judging.

"I got away with murder," the words spilled out so cleanly, so effortlessly that his eyes rose in surprise as her shocked ones met his. The thought had popped into her head and out of her mouth without preamble.

He smirked, and God she felt her insides clench, "I wouldn't put it past you," he spoke with such honest admiration that she smiled.

She missed him, missed this, and if she thought he would want to hear it she would have told him, instead she looked down at her hands, he wouldn't want to know, would want to think that she had gone days and days without thinking of him and his sacrifice; it was the way of them.

Truth was far more complicated than that. She had thought of him every morning, every night, every time she brushed her teeth or took a walk. When she saw a finger flick an ash, or a bottle of something strong she thought of him.

So she told him all the other truths, everything spilled out at once; from her rocky start and finish with Jack to her love and loss of Aaron, she spared no detail.

An hour passed and then half of another one, she told him of her suspicions of Sun, the horror leading up to her decision to board the Flight to Guam; she confessed how much she loved being a mother and how good she was at it. He had chuckled then, whispering to her that he had never had a doubt; she had made her way onto his lap at that point. His words of reassurance had been spoken into her hair.

There had been no more confessions after that, she knew sometime she would tell him how much she had missed him, but that was for another afternoon.

Darkness was falling, he pushed her to her feet calmly walking her into the bedroom, the one she knew that he had shared with another, but it didn't matter because she was the only one he would be sharing it with from now on. That he had told her as he had stripped her out of her clothes.

She had simply nodded and taken his thick cock into her hand reminding him that it worked both ways; he had grunted as she stroked him, his hands reaching for and squeezing her breasts until she was panting.

He made her pant and beg and plead; whispers and cries and streams of profanity spilled from her lips. There were no cameras on them, no angst, no sand; clean lines and cool sheets and God he tasted like sun and soap and she enjoyed licking his chest and sucking on his cock until his hips jerked off the bed.

When he flipped them, burying himself deep inside, she moaned; connected, filled, alive, Sawyer made her feel life and she told him so, thanked him for it as he pounded into her.

His eyes were dark and the emotion in them leaked onto his lashes, she longed to brush them away but her hands were pinned above her head; clearly he expected her to bolt, as if she could think of leaving when his body was so deliciously heavy above hers.

Running was her thing, it was in her blood; but there was no running from this, from him, not when she licked the sweat from his neck and milked his cock with her hips until his head tossed back. Now he was in her, buried and melted and seeping into her skin; he was her and she was him and she bucked beneath him until the light broke and she fucking camecamecame.

When his body stilled, only after he was confident that she had been sated, his head nestled under her chin they relaxed; she indulged in the intimacy, playing with his too short hair. His words started slowly, lazily, spinning a tale of white flashes and bombs and so much fear.

More time passed as secrets were revealed, his body still heavy on her, soft yet still buried inside her; she had never been so comfortable. Her blood was shifting, stretching making room for him. There was still the urge to run, she was who she was, but it was calling for him too.

Insides were pulling at her, her hand automatically reaching for his as she considered how far and how fast they could run before whatever was on the island came for them.

This she whispered to him, did her best to make him understand that her feet were itching, that she wanted to run and run and run, but she would only go if he came with.

"Freckles I wouldn't have it any other way," she smiled; he knew it, he got it. Of course he would, he was Sawyer and she was Kate and he just got her, he always had.

The moment he accepted that she would run and pull him along she felt the urge to bolt dissipate. Incredulous she stared up at the bland Dharma ceiling. She gets carte blanche to flee and a partner to boot and the reality of it becomes simply repugnant.

"Tomorrow, maybe," he chuckled against her neck, she felt his shoulders shrug in acceptance. What a man, the perfect man for her really, he would too, would take off in the morning if she chose to; it humbled her.

Sleep was tugging at her, his breathing was already slowly and she matched him breath for breath. Tomorrow there would be more problems to solve and questions to answer and she would; with him.


End file.
